Solitude Creek (Kathryn Dance 4)

"What, Trish?"

"Somebody on the P.A. system said 'The fire's in the kitchen.' Or something like that."

Dance remembered Cohen had made the announcement.

"But somebody nearby saw that the kitchen was okay. No fire at all. We went in that direction. We tried to tell everybody else but nobody could hear us. You couldn't hear anything."

Dance jotted down the girl's recollections.

"What's most important for us to find out is anything about him, this man. We have some description but it's not very much. We don't think he was in the club. He was outside. When did you and your mother get there?"

"I don't know, maybe seven fifteen."

"I want you to think back. Now this guy--"

"The perp."

Dance gave her a grin. "We say 'unsub.' Unknown subject."

"I say asshole."

"Now, this asshole drove a truck from the warehouse to the club around eight. He had to've been there before, I'm guessing. Did you see anybody hanging around, maybe near the warehouse? Checking out the club? Near the oil drum where he set the fire?"

Trish seemed to find more comfort cupping the beverage in her fingers, the nails tipped in chipped black polish, than drinking it.

A sigh. "No. I can't remember anyone. You know, you go to a place, there's going to be a show, and you're just talking and thinking about what you're going to see and have for dinner, and you don't pay much attention."

Much of Kathryn Dance's job had nothing to do with spotting deception on the part of unsubs; it was about helping witnesses unearth useful recollections.

Teenagers were among the worst when it came to remembering details. Their minds danced around so much, they were so distracted, that they observed little and recalled less--unless the topic interested them. Still, the images were often there. One task of an interviewer was to guide witnesses back to the time and place when they might have noted a tiny kernel that was nonetheless vital in nailing a suspect. As she considered how she might do this, she noted the girl's keyless fob sitting on the table beside her purse.

A Toyota logo from a local dealer.

"Prius?" Dance asked.

She nodded. "My mom got it for me. How'd you know?"

"Guess."

A sensible car. And an expensive one. Dance remembered too that the girl's father had driven a new Lexus.

"You like to drive?"

"Love it. When I'm, you know, upset, I drive up and down Big Sur."

"Trish, I want you to think back to the parking lot that night."

"I didn't see anybody in particular."

"I understand. But what I'm wondering about is cars. We know this guy's pretty smart. There's no indication he's working with anyone, so he'd have to drive to Solitude Creek but he wouldn't have parked too close to the club. He'd've been worried about video cameras or getting spotted climbing out of the truck, after he parked it, and getting into his own car."

Trish frowned. "A silver Honda."

"What?"

"Or light colored. We were pulling off the highway, off One, on the road that led to the club, and Mom said, 'Wonder if it'll get stolen.' It was parked by itself, on the other side of that line of trees that surrounded the parking lot. Of the club, you know."

Dance recalled an area of weeds and dunes between the parking lot and Highway 1.